Call It Courage
by toestastegood
Summary: When Linderman's threats get too personal, Nathan takes the only available option he takes Peter and runs. [NathanxPeter]
1. One

Linderman's office was one of the more stressful places that Nathan could think of. While the room had been decorated in a way that Nathan was sure had been designed to put its visitors at ease, full of homely touches and the brush of humanity, there was nothing relaxing about this place.

With careful eyes and an uneasy stomach, he watched the man behind the desk and tried to comprehend what he was trying to say; it was always so hard, even for him, to fight his way through the layers of veiled threats to work out what was being said. Manipulating a manipulator was always a challenge.

Right now, it wasn't a challenge he was enjoying.

"What exactly are you saying?" he asked quietly, glancing only briefly to the man that stood by the side of the room, a short distance from Linderman's desk. Hired muscle, there to make sure that Nathan didn't get too violent.

Linderman smiled, a twinkle in his eye as he leaned forward with his arms on his desk. He smiled, with rosy cheeks, and he looked like a Santa that had just stepped off a Christmas card. "Nothing, of course," he said. Nothing. It was always 'nothing' in these arrangements – and 'nothing' was always the one thing he couldn't afford to lose.

"I was merely mentioning that you might wish to keep a tighter eye on your brother once you win this election," Linderman continued, still smiling. Nathan kept his own expression as neutral and understanding as he could, even while his heart raced and he wanted to shake Linderman and tell him to leave Peter out of this. "It would be such a shame if something were to happen to him, wouldn't you agree?"

Nathan nodded, lips in a tight line and his mouth felt dry: Peter was a _nurse_. He wasn't supposed to be mixed up in this mess of a life – Peter was supposed to be the one safe thing here.

He forced himself to smile, that bright politician's smile that he'd learned so long ago from his father, and glanced down to his knees for only a moment. When he looked up again, Linderman was still smiling benignly. "Of course I agree, Mr. Linderman. What would make you think that my brother's in danger?"

Linderman's smile seemed to widen, and a dimple appeared in his cheek. "I'm sure he isn't, as long as you continue to follow our wishes. So far, we have no reason to be disappointed with your performance: I've been very impressed."

"I'm glad to hear that," Nathan said, as his heart started to sink.

Around him, he could feel Linderman's invisible grip tightening: if he carried on like this, he knew he'd be a puppet like his father in just a matter of months. 

* * *

"Pete?" Nathan said immediately, as he used his key to enter the apartment. The lights were off, but seeing as it was the middle of the day that didn't mean anything: Peter was on another of his 'save the world' routines, this time determinedly not wasting energy.

Without waiting for a response, Nathan moved swiftly through to the bedroom. On the floor, he had to step over abandoned piles of clothes; jeans that Peter had simply stepped out of at the end of the day before falling into bed – he thought he recognised one of the shirts left lying on the floor as one of his from a couple of nights ago.

Rolling his eyes and wondering if his own house would look as bad if it weren't for the maid, he headed straight for the closet. Opening it and ignoring the neat rows of clothes on their hangers, he dipped down to grab a large black bag from the bottom.

As he flung it onto the bed and immediately started to pick out clothes for Peter, folding them and placing them into the bag, he heard the bedroom door open as Peter came through, still holding a glass in his hand as he'd apparently been in the kitchen when Nathan first entered. Nathan paused what he was doing to look up at Peter, just to check if he was all right: no bruises, no cuts, no scared look on his face. Linderman's men hadn't been near him, then.

Yet.

"Nathan?" Peter asked slowly, walking into the room. He placed his drink down on the bedside cabinet, before he wandered over to stand by Nathan's side. As he moved, Nathan forced his attention back to packing, back to shoving everything imaginable that he could get his hands on into this one bag.

Peter reached out to place a hand on his upper arm, rubbing at his skin through the blue material of his shirt. Just his thumb moved, in soft strokes that got Nathan to stop packing again. He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath, trying to stay calm.

"Are we going somewhere?" Peter asked, as his other hand leafed through the contents of the bag. All the while, he kept his hand on Nathan's arm, which kept him rooted to the spot next to him. "'cause, generally speaking, it's nice if you ask first."

He smiled to himself, before detaching from Nathan to wander over to the chest of drawers behind them, wordlessly helping him pack without even knowing why.

Feeling almost guilty, Nathan grabbed the half-read books that were sitting by Peter's bed and placed them inside too. "I'll explain later," he said, with absolutely no intention of doing so. Peter didn't have to know.

Nathan wished that _he_ didn't have to know either – he was giving up on this. The politics just weren't worth it if there was even the slightest chance of Peter getting hurt.

And yet, it wasn't easy to just quit once you were under Linderman's thumb, once he'd invested millions into your campaign. Nathan couldn't back down, not without putting everyone in his family in danger.

They'd go after Peter first, he knew that. If he went on TV tomorrow and announced that he was quitting the campaign, Peter would have two of Linderman's thugs at his door within seconds. That was why just quitting wasn't enough; he had to go much further than that.

"Alright," Peter said quietly, moving past him to dump a set of socks and underpants into the bag too. "I trust you."

The words, easily said as they were, brought that familiar buzz to his body, the sense of power and belonging all at once. He reached out to place a hand on Peter's hip, turning him around so that they could face each other, then coaxing him into taking a step forward.

Once the silent instructions were carried out, they were left standing so close to each other that Peter's breath seemed to burn his skin as it ghosted over him. Peter always seemed at his most beautiful up close, where you could see the delicate angles of his body and the gentleness on his face. Whenever Nathan watched him sleeping, he couldn't honestly believe that they were actually _related_. It didn't seem possible.

One hand raised from Peter's hip to brush over his cheekbone instead, tucking that ridiculous bang of hair behind Peter's ear. "You know I'll take care of you, Peter," Nathan whispered, and if he didn't know better then he'd say his hand was shaking. "Always – you know I'd never let anyone hurt you."

Peter's face was always so expressive; it was easy to read the confusion and concern, just from the frown that appeared. He seemed to have a thousand different frowns, and Nathan had memorised them all. He kissed the crease between Peter's eyebrows, trying to soothe that frown away somehow.

It didn't work, at all, and Peter just brushed his hand over Nathan's arm again. Nathan felt the hairs on the back of his arm stand up, eager for more of that gentle touch, but he tried to ignore it.

"Nate, you wanna tell me what's going on?" Peter asked quietly. "Whatever it is, I promise I can-"

Before Peter could continue and make promises he couldn't hope to keep, Nathan swooped in to silence him. Bringing their lips together, the kiss fumbled at first before Peter's hand found its way into his hair, allowing him to take charge.

Nathan allowed it, losing himself in the feel of Peter's body against his. When they shuffled forward to the bed and tumbled onto it, only narrowly avoiding the bag that still sat there, he couldn't think of all the precious time they were wasting.

'Wasting' was certainly the wrong word to use, he'd decided by the time Peter had managed to undo the first button of his shirt. 

* * *

He stared up at the screen, at the confusing lists of destinations and times and gates. He hated airports like this, and hadn't had to navigate one alone for a while yet. It made him wish that he could just take to the skies himself, but he'd already told himself that they were going to put that behind them.

With no powers, no politics, and no Linderman, this trip was going to be amazing. It _would_ be.

Discovering the correct gate to go to, he looked around the airport to try and locate Peter again. At times, he felt like he ought to put his brother on a leash just to try and keep track of him. It seemed impossible otherwise.

The airport's crowd pulsed around him, thick and menacing, and the sick twist of fear started to creep onto him when he couldn't see Peter anywhere. God, of all the times to walk off…

He breathed in through his nose, searching and repeatedly reminding himself that Peter was an adult, even if he didn't act like it most of the time. He didn't have to always know where he was and what he was doing – but at times like this, it would help.

Running a hand through his hair, he was starting to wonder if he ought to go to airport security when he felt an elbow nudge his back.

"Nathan? Got us some coffee. Figured you looked tired, could probably use it," Peter said, standing behind him with two takeaway cups in his hands. Nathan turned and took one from him. The heat warmed his hands and he nodded, a minute movement, in relief once he surveyed Peter to make sure he was all right.

Peter took a sip from his drink, wincing from the heat, before glancing up at the screen too. "Gate Nine? Has our flight been called yet?"

Nathan shook his head. "No. Come on, we'll find somewhere to sit while we wait. And Peter?" He paused, not entirely sure how this request would be taken. Peter nodded, nervous frown appearing. "Don't wander off again."

No explanation was given, but apparently there wasn't one needed either. Peter murmured in agreement, and stuck close to him as they walked to try and find a place to sit. 

* * *

He let Peter have the window seat on the plane, to allow him to stare out in awe. He couldn't understand how Peter could still be impressed by something as simple as flight: they'd both been on more planes than they could count over the years.

This plane was different, though – this plane was a one-way journey to Europe. To Italy, to Rome, but he thought that they'd keep moving around until he was sure that Linderman had stopped looking for them.

His legs were cramped, and this was the first time that he could remember that he wasn't flying in business class. On the opposite side of the aisle, there was a couple and their child. The boy was barely a toddler, with a bright red face that seemed to threaten all the passengers with the chance of a loud tantrum and snotty tears.

The sight of it made him miss Simon and Monty already. It was only a dull ache at the moment, but he knew it would grow bigger, and would gnaw at him until he longed to return to New York.

That couldn't happen, he reminded himself as he looked over to Peter. He needed to do this; he needed to be both Peter's big brother and his lover, and both of those occupations involved doing anything to protect him.

As the plane started to sluggishly position itself on the runway, Nathan reached out to Peter's hand, grasping it tightly. When Peter squeezed his fingers with a reassuring smile, Nathan didn't even want to let go.


	2. Two

They hired a car once the plane landed – it was beaten up and a horrible green colour, but Peter laughed when he saw the fuzzy dice inside so Nathan had let him pick _that_ car – and drove endlessly. They filtered in and out of hotels along the way, Peter joking that Nathan seemed to be trying to fuck him in every single uncomfortable bed they could find.

Nathan had responded by leading him to the shower and taking him there instead.

It had only been a week, but already they'd slipped into a subtle routine of car rides and gas stations and stopping for landmarks. Nathan found the hotel beds impossible to sleep in, instead opting to stay up and watch Peter, just to remind himself that he was real, that he was safe, that they were as far from Linderman and that life as they could get.

He caught his sleep instead tucked in the passenger seat of the car, letting Peter drive. Even if he only dozed, it was an enjoyable way to travel; Peter would turn the Italian radio on and listen to a language he only half-understood, occasionally singing along to some of the bizarre pop records would that appear.

He seemed happy, so much more stable than he'd been back in New York. Stable, normal, sane; there hadn't been one mention of powers or cheerleaders since they'd come here.

He had his eyes closed and was leaning against the window of the car, listening to the sound of Peter drumming on the steering wheel, singing along in an out of tune voice to a song that Nathan was worried was by the Spice Girls.

"I know you're awake, Nate," Peter said, breaking off during the chorus. Although Nathan kept his eyes closed and ignored Peter like he hadn't said a thing, it was difficult not to start laughing when one of Peter's hands reached over to prod his ribs. "C'mon, bet you know the words too."

Nathan smiled to himself, realising that he hadn't felt this happy in much too long a time.

* * *

The room was lined with grimy shadows and curious stains on the bed that Nathan didn't want to examine too closely; Peter really deserved better than this.

He didn't seem to mind, but Peter never seemed to mind anything. He shut up and got on with whatever it was, whether it was his homework or his job or dealing with their mother's latest cry for attention. Whenever Nathan watched him, he wanted to ask if he was actually okay with what they were doing.

But he was a Petrelli and he knew how to hold his tongue, so he never asked. He didn't want to ruin what they had right now.

"Nate!" Peter said, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet from where he'd been sitting on the side of the bed. Peter's hair was still wet from the shower he'd emerged from just minutes before; his body was protected only by a white towel around his waist. "I thought," Peter said, pausing only to kiss Nathan lightly, "That you were gonna join me."

His skin was still wet, beads of water gathered there, and Nathan could feel it soaking through his shirt from where Peter was so, so close to him. It'd never been this easy before; finding time to fit together had seemed like an impossible task.

Now Peter melded into him like it was the simplest thing in the world, and Nathan didn't think he could ever give it up.

His arms moved around Peter, holding him close while his thumb traced the ridges of his shoulder blades, and just _holding_ Peter made him feel so much better than he had in years. Soft lips pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, and he could sense rather than see Peter frowning.

"Nathan?" Peter whispered against his ear, and he had to try hard to stop himself from shivering at the sound of Peter's voice like that, low and husky. "I wasn't gonna ask, but you've seemed so down lately."

Nathan tensed where they were standing and holding each other: he didn't want to hear this, didn't want Peter to ask. He wanted to stay hidden in denial, pretending that this was some fun road trip, that he was twenty again and Peter wasn't his brother but was someone he picked up along the way.

Peter was going to force this on him, though; he was going to make them face reality.

Stupid Peter, he never did know what was best for him.

"Peter, don't do this," he warned, voice growling.

Peter persisted though, pushing just too far, like he always did. One day that habit was going to hurt him. One day Nathan was going to hurt him because of that habit, and the idea worried him almost as much as Linderman did.

"Nate? You're gonna have to tell me eventually. I haven't asked before now, but it's been a week. A full week, Nathan. You're running from something, I know that – tell me what it is." His hand rose to brush again Nathan's cheek, dark eyes imploring him to hand over the truth. "I can help."

"You _are_ helping, Peter," Nathan said, knowing that Peter needed to believe that. Maybe it was true. It didn't matter. "Just by being here, you're helping."

"Nathan, don't. I have to put up with you lying to me all the time at home. Don't do it here too." Peter pulled away from him now, one hand falling to the towel around his waist to hold it up and make sure it didn't fall. Nathan's eyes followed the hand, and he considered the odds of him being able to fuck these ideas out of Peter.

They were high enough; Peter was so easily distracted by a tongue against his neck or Nathan's cock in his mouth. As Nathan took a step towards his brother, though, Peter retreated back and held a hand up to warn him off. "No way. You're not getting out of it that easily. I have a right to know, Nate. Don't I?"

So much, Nathan just wanted to snap that he didn't, that he had to just shut his mouth and let Nathan carry on protecting him.

That wouldn't help calm Peter at all, and he needed calming: stood at the side of the room, breathing angrily, barely clothed but furious anyway. If Nathan wasn't careful, Peter was going to bolt and never come back. That was always a danger with Peter, he was as volatile as their father, but at a time like this Nathan didn't want to deal with the possibility.

"I know, Peter," Nathan murmured, in a slow voice that he usually used to get his kids to sleep. Slow and safe and calm. "I know, you do. You're an adult – and I'll tell you when I can, but right now-"

"No, Nate. Tell me now." Peter was beautiful when he was angry like this, frown on his face and muscles flexing, but all Nathan wanted to do was slam his head into the nearest wall. "Tell me now or I'm leaving."

He reached for a shirt, the black material seeming even darker when he pulled it over his still wet skin. The towel was thrown aside, Peter not seeming to care as he just dipped down to pick up a set of underwear and jeans, tugging them on as fast as he could.

Nathan sighed, and shook his head. "No you're not, Peter. You're going to drop the subject, forget about it, and let me take you out for dinner. We won't talk about this again."

Peter chuckled to himself, sitting on the side of the bed and he shoved socks and shoes on in a hurry. Nathan wasn't worried; he could always get Peter to do whatever he wanted. Always, without fail.

"Well, yeah. We won't," Peter agreed, but Nathan got the feeling that that had been much too easy. "I'm leaving. If you want me to stay, you've got to tell me why we're here."

"I'm not going to do that," Nathan said immediately; and it was more out of stubbornness now, more out of the need to prove that Peter wasn't allowed to tell him what to do.

That and the fact that Peter just didn't need to know – he could just imagine how much this would torture Peter's brain, and didn't want to have to cope with Peter's guilt. It was just better that he didn't know.

"Then I'm not going to stay," Peter said, snapping to his feet.

He didn't move towards the door, and instead stayed rooted to the spot as if he was waiting for Nathan to cave. When Nathan didn't, Peter seemed to make up his mind. He nodded and walked towards the door, in light but hurried steps.

The door slammed behind him, without a single other word from him, but Nathan didn't feel worried. He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited: he'd guess that it would only be about five minutes before Peter came back and rushed an apology at him.

* * *

The five minutes turned to an hour, turned to two hours and that was when Nathan gave up waiting and decided to start searching.

The town was small and Peter didn't speak the native language well enough – Nathan assured himself that Peter couldn't have got far. He didn't even allow himself to rush along the broken and cracked sidewalk. Rushing would mean that something was wrong, and something was _not_ wrong. Just Peter. Just Peter being an unthinking asshole.

As always: Peter would complain about Nathan taking care of him, and then stubbornly prove seconds later that he couldn't take care of himself.

Feet moving at a logical pace over the tarmac, Nathan simply imagined all of the ways he was going to punish Peter when he found him, everything that he was going to say, and just how to convey the disappointment in his eyes. He could guilt Peter into never doing this again, he knew he could.

He didn't allow ghoulish images of Linderman's thugs to appear in his mind. He didn't allow himself to imagine them finding Peter, hurting him, leaving him for dead.

It wouldn't happen.

He wouldn't let it.

He searched the whole town, everywhere twice, and when he came back Peter was _there_.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, shoulders hunched. He glanced up for just a split second when Nathan entered the room – his eyes seemed red, almost as if he'd been crying. Nathan didn't believe that, because Peter didn't cry. Petrellis didn't cry.

"Where've you been?" Peter asked, looking down at the floor again.

Nathan knelt down to take his shoes off and placed them neatly by the door. Peter's shoes had just been abandoned haphazardly on the floor, but he didn't fuss about that now. For tonight, he'd put up with the chaos Peter left around him in order to just have him here and safe.

"Looking for you," Nathan answered, and he couldn't avoid snapping the words out. He hastily undid the buttons on his shirt – even while 'on holiday', he couldn't break away from his dressing habits – as he moved forward. "You can't just run off like that, Pete."

Peter's head was still lowered, but he nodded and seemed to agree silently.

Moving onto the bed, it took just a few seconds to slip his arm around Peter and tug him down so that they were both lying back. His body curled around Peter, hugging him like a long lost teddy bear. Peter let out a long breath and crumpled back against him, still fully dressed.

Nathan could smell the shampoo in Peter's hair, and inhaled it deeply. Eyes closing, he finally just whispered, "Don't scare me like that again, Pete. Just don't."

Peter entwined their hands together, holding him tightly. "I won't. Promise."

* * *

When they stopped in Switzerland, he watched as Peter bought a small set of postcards. Just a few words were scribbled on each one – _Hey Heidi, having a weird time. Sun's nice, you'd like it. Hope to see you soon. Lots of love, Peter and Nathan_ – but it made his heart twist painfully to watch those messages to home.

It was a home they had no reason to go back to, he told himself. Heidi, Monty, Simon, even their mother… they were all in the past now. This was the future. Europe, Asia, he'd decided they might move onto Australia once they ran out of countries here.

"You can't post those, Pete," he said quietly. From the confused pain on Peter's face, Nathan immediately wished that he hadn't had to say that. "They'll be able to tell where we are."

Peter looked down to the cards, frowning, but he nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Alright." In a violent movement, he ripped up the card and threw it into the bin next to them. The pieces floated down to sit on the abandoned sandwiches and beer bottles inside, while Nathan stared at their lunch and determinedly told himself that he wasn't a bad person.


	3. Three

Heidi's voice sounded tired and weary when she answered the phone. "Yeah?" she asked, her voice almost a drawl. Nathan realised that he'd forgotten about the time zones; he must've woken her up.

He felt guilty for that, but not much. He had too many other things to feel guilty about. Clutching the payphone in his hand, he leaned back against the glass wall of the booth he was in. "Hey. It's me."

"Nathan?" Her voice wasn't cold, wasn't warm, wasn't panicked; he wasn't sure what it was, only knew that he was delighting in the sound of it.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. How are you?"

"How _am _I? It's been over a month, Nathan. Where are you?"

God, she was angry. She never got angry, she was always too calm for that. He swallowed, knowing she wouldn't understand. Calling at all had been a mistake. "That's not important. I'm with Peter – he needs me."

He heard the sound of her snorting across the phone line. "Right, sure he does. He's not a kid, Nathan. You know who is? Your _sons_. They miss you."

"I miss them too," he whispered, and closed his eyes against the sight outside the glass: a busy gas station, with tourists like them milling around. Peter was inside, using the restroom, and their tumble-down car was sitting harmlessly out front. He shouldn't have been calling. He knew that. "How are they?"

"Upset. Confused. Pissed off. Come home, Nathan. Whatever it is, we can fix it here."

"You can't, trust me. When it's safe, I'll be back there as soon as I can." He paused, not sure if that was true or not. One month away with Peter, and he was already tempted not to go back. "Can you answer me one question, though?"

Heidi grumbled down the phone, the distinctive sound of indecision: he knew she'd cave.

"Linderman – have you heard anything from him lately?"

There was a deadly silence on the other end of the line. "A couple of phone calls from 'his people', and we've had a few visits. Angela seems to be taking care of it. What's going on? What kind of trouble are you in?"

He didn't want to lie to her, not on top of everything else, so he just took a deep breath. "I can't tell you yet. Take care of the boys." He glanced towards the restroom doors, always expecting Peter to appear and catch him in the act.

Not that Peter would mind. He'd probably smile and tell him to say 'hello' for him. Thinking of that helped Nathan to relax slightly, smiling to himself.

"I love you."

"Love you t—"

He hung up before she could finish, and moved inside to pay for their fuel in Euros. He was starting to really miss dollars too.

* * *

Another week passed, time disappearing without him noticing. Towns slipped by and he barely paid attention to the landmarks that Peter made them stop at. He thought that they were in Greece now, maybe Turkey, but the geography was fuzzy to him and he was always paranoid when they passed over the borders; their passports would make it easier for Linderman to track them down, and he'd always seemed to have eyes everywhere.

Yet he and Peter had evaded those eyes for over a month now: maybe he was getting cocky, but he was starting to think that they'd got away with this, that he could maybe let his guard down – just a little.

"You seem happy," Peter murmured beside him on the bed, half-asleep. The motel room stank of cheap beer, a reminder of the last occupants, but he still had the taste of Peter in his mouth so he wasn't bothered by it. "Not that I'm complaining," he amended quickly, as he rolled over to look at Nathan's face. Dark eyes studied him, seeming to pick up every emotion, and Nathan was sure he'd get hard again if Peter kept looking at him like that. A goofy smile appeared on his face when Peter placed a hand on his chest, tracing nonsense patterns there. "Any particular reason?"

"Other than how I just made you scream like a girl?" Nathan asked, and was rewarded by those eyes glaring at him. For a second, it seemed that Peter was going to stick his tongue out too, but he managed to overcome that impulse. "Yeah, there's a reason," Nathan admitted, after Peter prodded him as a prompt. "This month… It's been good, hasn't it?"

Peter smiled, and pressed a light kiss to his chest. "It's been great."

"And you like this town, don't you?" Nathan couldn't even remember its name, but Peter would like it. He had a habit of seeing the sun through the rain, or something like that. When he got a nod from Peter, he smiled. "Well, that's settled then. We'll stop here, find a place, rent it out, get a job. It'll be even better than the past month – you'll love it."

Peter's smile barely slipped, but there was a tenseness to his shoulders that hadn't existed just a few seconds ago. "Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Heidi? Monty? Simon? Your job, your campaign – _my_ job. I have a girlfriend, Nathan. Sort of. I have a life. We both do."

"We can have a new life." And, god, he wanted that so badly he didn't know how to express it. He needed to be free from his marriage and his kids, as much as he loved them. His whole life, the _one_ thing that had felt right was this screwed up, wrong thing with Peter: this was their chance to have that become reality, instead of a collection of too fast fumbles whenever they could grab the time. He wasn't going to have Peter mess this up for them. "No one knows us here, Pete. No one."

Peter had sat up now, looking at him with an expression on his face that was either horrified or worried. One wrong move and Nathan was sure Peter would be out that door again: and this time, he probably wouldn't come back.

He calmed him with a reassuring stroke over his bare arm. "Just think about it, promise me that."

When Peter lay back down in the bed again, Nathan tugged him close with a possessive force that always scared him. He held Peter as tightly as he could bear, and formed plots in his head of how to get him to agree while Peter drifted into sleep.

* * *

In the morning, he left before Peter had woken up, leaving the other man sprawled out on the bed. Jerky limbs and floppy movements, Nathan supposed that it was a wonder he hadn't ended up with thousands of bruises from sharing a bed with Peter; but his brother seemed to calm down and fall still when he was there, something that he was extremely grateful for.

The sun was harsh on his face and in his eyes when he left the room, but he ignored it to set his head down and start walking. Five minutes, and he'd be at the local shop. Another five, and he could have returned to their room, ready to surprise Peter with breakfast in bed.

Dumb and romantic perhaps, and he hadn't done it for Heidi since before they were married, but he needed to do this: he needed to 'woo' Peter in a way he hadn't ever expected he'd have to. Peter was supposed to dote on him and follow him without a second thought.

Somewhere along this trip that had broken down, and now he had to quietly manipulate Peter into wanting to stay. He'd let them drive on a few more towns, and continue to make everything perfect until Peter protested when he suggested that it was time to go back. Easy.

As he walked, he stared at his scuffed shoes – _scuffed_ shoes, he really was in the wilderness now – and the dry dirt path at the side of the road that he was walking along. The morning sun was hot and harsh, leaving him glad when he reached the town and the limited shade it offered.

White but grubby buildings and an overload of stray cats greeted him, along with the super-fast whizzing of motorbikes rushing past on the road. He smiled and nodded at the locals, and tried his best not to feel paranoid if their eyes lingered too long on him. In a shirt and suit, only missing a tie, he supposed that he didn't look like a regular tourist.

He knew they had their reasons to stare, but the too alert and too thoughtful gazes made him tense. There were two men, sitting on the wooden benches outside one of the many bars in this town. They each had a large glass of beer, but the glasses looked full; not a single drop was missing.

Loose white t-shirts hid the excess weight around their stomachs, and the generous scattering of white hair around their heads should have stopped them from being threatening – but when they slowly stood up as he passed, Nathan increased the pace of his walking without thinking about it.

Fast footsteps behind him and a hand that clamped heavily on his arm proved that his suspicions had been right; but he'd just reacted too late. "Nathan Petrelli?" the man asked, without a hint of a Greek accent in his voice: definitely not from around here, despite the heavy tan.

The man's buddy joined them, grabbing Nathan's other arm. It was a grip that would put steel to shame – and the locals around them were determinedly ignoring the burgeoning scene. They stared at their newspapers or down into their drinks, as if it just wasn't happening.

Knowing that he didn't have much choice, Nathan sighed and nodded. "That's me."

"Good," the man to his right said. "We need to talk."

Despite the feeling that their conversation wouldn't involve a lot of talking, Nathan allowed himself to be hustled towards one of the thin side streets that dominated the small town. If these people were with him, they were at least away from Peter. "You're with Linderman?" he asked, as the dark shadows from the buildings around them closed in.

The men just smirked, and seconds later a blunt fist was slammed into his stomach; it forced the air out of him in a painful rush, and he coughed even though he should have been expecting this. He bent over and gagged, but those strong hands pushed him upright again. "They want you to go, get your brother, and come home. Now."

God, _your brother_. Peter. Peter, who he'd left alone and sleeping in a motel room – what the hell had he been thinking?

"Okay," he gasped, still wondering if he was going to throw up. He doubted if that gesture would be taken kindly by these two thugs. "Okay, I will. I promise."

The hands holding him up loosened slightly, enough that he allowed himself to relax. He continued to take deep breaths, heavy gulps of air; the last time anyone had punched him, it'd just been Peter - and that was allowed. That was painful, and that was _annoying_, but it was still allowed.

"You get back home to your family quick, Petrelli. Next time, we're going after that little brother of yours. Doubt if he'll take a punch as well as you do."

The threat was punctuated with another rough punch, delivered with a vicious sting to the side of his face. His lip slammed against his teeth and split, the metallic taste of blood spilling into his mouth and dripping down his chin.

He raised the back of his hand to his mouth, mopping at the blood that had formed, and didn't even know what to say to these guys. The threat against Peter had his pulse racing, and made him want to launch into the air – he could get back to their hotel room in just a minute, long before these men could make it there.

That was a rough way of doing things; rough, wrong, disgusting, and his powers were one of the many things he had meant to leave behind in New York. He smiled instead, as best he could with his lip bleeding. His charm, his ability to lie, that was a lot more useful than the power of flight.

"We'll be on the first flight back," he stated, with a sincerity that the men seemed to buy.

They backed off, smirking. "You'd better be."

As they disappeared, back to their beers, Nathan closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. He'd give himself two minutes to get over the pain – and then it was right back to Peter, right back to this hopeless quest to keep him safe.

* * *

When he made it back to their hotel room, Peter wasn't in the bed. The sheets had been thrown back and left in a tangled mess, but Peter was _gone_. It was only the tickling sound of the shower from the bathroom that kept Nathan from panicking completely.

Instead, he sat down on the bed, and tried to figure out what would be the best thing to do. They were running low on money, though he hadn't mentioned that to Peter. He'd withdrew as much as he could from his account before they'd left, but he'd been in a rush and it just wasn't enough.

And now Linderman's men were on their trail; but they couldn't go back. He needed Peter safe, although if he was honest, it was so much more than that. If he went home, he'd be back to that life. Who knew what Linderman's demands and threats might turn him into?

He wouldn't become that man, that corrupt politician: he refused to be a walking cliché. More importantly, he refused to be his father.

Peter would understand, if he ever told him. He _knew_ that Peter would understand, because understanding was what Peter did. It was part of who he was.

His shoes were removed, clothes disposed of as he continued to think. His lip still throbbed, a constant reminder of what they were running from, and the punch to his stomach had resulted in a thick and heavy bruise. It hurt to breathe.

His bare feet moved over the carpet, and he entered the bathroom with a soft sigh. Steam spilled everywhere, and the mirror was lost beneath condensation: Peter's skin would be pink when he emerged, and Nathan would never get used to the high temperatures that Peter used.

As he stepped into the shower behind Peter, he leaned past him to adjust the heat, lowering it to a more acceptable temperature. Peter grumbled, but leaned back against him, his skin slick from the water. Nathan tried his best not to wince when the pressure was applied to that fresh bruise, but he couldn't help the slightest reaction.

Peter picked up on it, as he picked up on everything, and turned his head to look at him. His eyes were immediately drawn down to Nathan's lips, and he raised a hand to skim over his bottom lip, purposefully missing out the cut there. "What happened?" he asked, turning around to face him.

Nathan shook his head, and looked away to the white tiles of the bathroom. The pristine white had faded to an off-colour cream over the years, but it was still better than looking into Peter's sincere eyes. "Nothing," he murmured.

"Nothing?" Peter's hand drifted to his jaw, and down the line of his neck. Fingers trailed along his collarbone and gradually moved down his chest, like the droplets of water that spilled down from the showerhead. There was no sex in Peter's touch, so much more than that. Nathan wondered if all of Peter's patients got this treatment from him: he really hoped not, seeing as most of Peter's patients so far had been dying old men. "Nothing split your lip, and— Christ, Nathan. Your stomach?"

Peter dropped to his knees at the bottom of the shower in an experienced move that Nathan had witnessed a hundred times before. He wasn't hard this time, though, and Peter didn't focus on his cock.

Instead, his lips drifted around the edge of the dark bruise. Nathan shivered, breath rushing out, and he moved back to lean against the tiles. Peter's tongue joined his lips, tenderly licking the shower's water from Nathan's bruised skin. It was replaced instantly, but Peter didn't stop. His hands were steadying himself on Nathan's hips, with his thumbs stroking the skin in a way that was much more reassuring than it had any right to be.

"Pete," Nathan said, barely whispering the name. Peter nodded, but his tongue continued to lap at Nathan's skin without stopping. "You're right, we can't stay here." Peter smiled against his skin, and closed his eyes. "You feel like trying somewhere new?"

Peter pulled back just enough. "New like where?"

"Wherever you want. I was thinking Australia."

Peter sat back, and Nathan missed the warm touch of his tongue. This was more important, though. There would be time for Peter to lavish attention on him later – they had to deal with this first, and he _needed_ Peter to go along with the idea.

"This sudden urge to flee wouldn't have anything to do with how you got these bruises, would it?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nathan reached his hand down to run his fingers over Peter's cheek. "Of course not," he assured him. It wasn't his best lie ever and Peter didn't believe him, he could tell, but his brother nodded slowly.

"Alright," Peter said with a sigh as he got to his feet. "Let's go pack. Again."


	4. Four

They only lasted for two days in Australia before Nathan's nerves got the better of him.

His bruises faded, at least to the point where he didn't wince with every step, and he had to admit to himself that it was almost enjoyable to have Peter trying to take care of him – if not enjoyable then it was at least adorable, though Peter would perhaps object to being called that.

They'd left the old car back in Europe, though Peter had taken the dice with them. Now they sat in a diner in a small town somewhere outside of Sydney, with a different beat-up car waiting outside.

"So," Peter said, glancing up from where he'd been reading the newspaper. He seemed delighted to be in an English-speaking country again. "What're we doing today? Travelling again?" The enthusiasm that was always present in his voice was almost completely gone by now.

"I was thinking that we might start to look for somewhere to settle down," Nathan suggested quietly. Peter had rejected the idea last time, but that was then. Since, Nathan had been beaten up and he couldn't continue to force Peter to run for much longer. "It makes more sense to do it here, where we speak the language."

Peter frowned and looked down to his newspaper again, before he gave a light shrug with one shoulder. "Whatever you say," he murmured. Nathan could have cheered from how easy that victory had been.

Holding back any cheers, as that would've attracted attention and pissed off Peter, he took a small sip from his coffee and looked around the diner they were in. It smelled of bacon and pancakes, the breakfast rush still filtering in and out. With red panels and hassled waitresses, the place seemed like every other diner anywhere in the world. It made him miss the US.

He played idly with one of the white paper napkins and hated the fact that Peter's nervous habits seemed to be rubbing off on him. He'd lived in a state of high tension for over a month now, though, so perhaps he had a reason to fiddle anxiously.

He glanced up, head moving sharply, when the door to the diner's bathroom opened with a whining swing. It was dumb to be this on edge, and he'd been scolding himself for it ever since they arrived at the Greek airport to catch their plane here, but the man exiting the bathroom proved that he'd been right to be paranoid.

The greying hair, the hidden weight under his too large t-shirt, the lumbering gait, the knowing snarl: it was one of the men who had attacked him before. Nathan's hand reached out to cover Peter's, where he was still reading that damn paper.

"Pete," he said slowly, looking back to his brother's face as the man slipped into one of the booths at the other side of the restaurant, in plain sight of them. He wasn't even trying to be stealthy about it, and Nathan knew what that meant: this was a warning, probably the final one. "Pete, we need to leave."

"What? We just-"

"Just listen to me. It's important that we stand up right now, and walk out to our car like nothing's wrong. I'll explain later." He wasn't sure if he would or not, but he doubted if he'd get away with little more than a 'trust me, Peter' this time.

Peter looked around the diner, before he folded his paper up and placed their money on the table. "You'd better," he murmured, before he stood up and did exactly as he was told.

With his heart racing, Nathan stood up and followed him: that had been way too close.

* * *

That night, he watched the ceiling above them instead of sleeping. The room was dusky and dark, with only the faint glow from the digital clock, and the light forcing its way through thin curtains providing any illumination at all.

Peter's breathing wasn't slow or heavy enough yet to imply that he'd fallen asleep, and Nathan ran his hand gently through his hair. It was soothing, almost like petting a dog, though he'd keep that comparison to himself.

"We could make a life here, Peter," he murmured to the dark room. Beside him, Peter stirred but stayed silent. "Settle down for real, change our names. No one would know who we are, what we are. Anything."

Peter shifted and slipped an arm around his naked waist, before tugging the off-white sheets further over their bodies. When he settled down again, he nodded. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah. I figure we could get a farm – I always liked that idea, you getting your hands dirty for once."

"_Me_?" Peter sounded outraged, and Nathan was rewarded – or perhaps punished, he wasn't sure – by a nip of Peter's teeth against his right nipple. "I'm a nurse. You have no idea how dirty that gets."

Nathan frowned and rolled over on top of Peter, nestled between the warmth of his thighs. "I don't want to think about that right now, Pete." The idea of Peter's job cleaning up after dying old men wasn't one that he felt like entertaining.

He felt Peter smiling underneath him, and heard the rushing air of him chuckling, but it was difficult to see anything in the dim light they shared. Peter stroked a hand over his shoulder, his touch light and cautious. "What _do_ you want to think about?"

Nathan propped himself up with one arm on the bed by the side of Peter's body, leaving his other hand to skim down, low over Peter's hips. He was growing hard slowly, with just the feel of Peter's body underneath him enough to turn him on: he needed to make the most of this time while he could.

His fingers spread over Peter's flat stomach, and he held back a smile as he felt Peter's breath hitch. "I want to think about you and me, on that farm together."

Peter chuckled again, and nodded. "Alright. Tell me more about it."

Nathan stayed quiet as he gently held Peter's hips and pressed inside him, still prepped and ready from the last time that night. His residual guilt sparked as he heard the near-silent wince of pain from his brother, but it was soothed away by a soft kiss to the side of his mouth.

"C'mon, tell me," Peter insisted, legs bent at an angle that had to be awkward from their positioning.

Nathan moved softly, touching Peter as if he was made from something much more fragile than just glass, and tried to focus on this made-up life they could've had. "You're going to be the farm wife, Pete," he said, just because he knew Peter wouldn't take kindly to that. As expected, Peter hit his arm lightly; luckily for Nathan, he didn't seem out to do serious harm. "You'd stay at home all day, cook my meals, clean the house. I'd make you wear a cute little apron and everything."

"'Cute'?" Peter asked, moving with him now. Their hips rose and fell, tangled in the simple dance they'd done so many times before. Nathan wished he'd switched the lamp on so that he could watch the sweat gather on Peter's body, and observe the faint red flush that always came to his face. "I'm not wearing it if you think it's cute."

"What if I think it's hot?"

"Then I'll wear it."

"Freak."

"You're the one who suggested it in the first place!" Peter protested, shoving at his shoulder and nearly toppling them over. They paused moving to get their balance again, snickering to themselves, before Nathan managed to fall back into their steady rhythm of thrusting together. "Tell me more about what we're gonna do," Peter asked, though he was beginning to sound breathless.

Nathan was starting to lose it himself, grunting and groaning as he lost focus. "We'll get married," Nathan whispered, and now he was really drifting off into a fantasyland. "Change our names, change our identities, get married. I'll-"

He broke off and lost himself, mind floating away as he came deep inside Peter with a reluctant grunt. He stayed vaguely aware of Peter's hand moving between them and jerking himself off in several efficient strokes, but rolled onto his back again without giving Peter the attention he actually deserved.

They lay in silence for a crushing few moments, until Peter cleared his throat. "We're going home tomorrow, aren't we?" he asked, in a voice that seemed too small and weak.

Still catching his breath, Nathan gave a slow nod. "Yeah," he answered, slowly facing up to it. "Yeah we are."

* * *

On the flight back home, Peter tried to take his hand.

Nathan pulled away from the touch as quickly as he could; they were going back home, back to their old life, away from the stupid fantasies they'd entertained the night before.

He had to make Peter realise that.

* * *

At the airport, everyone was waiting for them. Nathan wasn't sure how they'd known to be there, and that alone should have set him on edge.

Instead he broke into a broad smile when he and Peter walked into the airport, with Nathan carrying the one black bag they'd brought with them. Standing in a small clump, dressed up and as regal as ever, the remaining Petrellis were waiting: Monty with a missing tooth and gap-filled smile, Simon sulking with his arms crossed – and, damn, had he really managed to grow that much in just a month? – Angela dressed in black and as stern-faced as ever, and Heidi…

_God, Heidi._

She was smiling, but it seemed tired and almost afraid of him, like she wasn't sure just who she was meeting at the airport. A husband, a politician, a stranger, a madman. Right now, Nathan thought it was a mix of all four and a thousand different things as well.

He wanted to reach out for Peter's hand, to clutch it tightly to reassure himself – and Peter, of course – that things were going to be alright. They were home now, though, and he had to remember that. They were home; they were brothers. From now on, they were back to stolen moments and rushed quickies.

With one flight, the connection they'd made on their trip had faded, and Peter rushed forwards to the kids, collecting both Simon and Monty into a crushing bear-hug. They laughed and complained but didn't pull away, while Nathan hung back, staying where he was a few long, so long, paces away.

The rest of the airport bustled around him, loud and oppressive. Families were reunited with laughs and hugs; couples rushed into each other, kisses and declarations of love haunting the air; handshakes were exchanged as new business contacts were encountered. He stayed separate from it all, the world spinning as reality crashed into him – Peter charmed a reluctant Heidi and the kids were delighted to have them back.

And their mother…

Angela stood, dressed in stern black, and a lipstick smile curled onto her lips as she watched him instead of Peter. Short heels clipped aggressively over the airport's floor, though she was still smiling.

"Keep smiling, Nathan," she ordered as she pressed a dry kiss to his cheek, hands firmly on his shoulders. "The press are no doubt here; they'll want to record your arrival."

He supposed that he ought to ask about the campaign, about how she'd coped with his absence, about how she'd dealt with the media, and yet…

He didn't care.

He didn't want to bother with this any more: he just wanted to grab Peter, turn around, and get back on that plane. His mother's hand tighten on his shoulder. "I've dealt with Linderman; he won't go near any of us as long as you learn to control yourself. And Nathan? If you ever do anything like this to your brother again, I will _make sure_ that you receive more than a couple of punches for it," she whispered by his ear; the words were hissed out.

His stomach plummeted, bruises throbbing all over again, and he slowly returned the awkward hug they shared. "How do you know about that, mom?" he asked – and he didn't want to know, didn't want to think about it, didn't want to accept the fact that those hadn't been Linderman's men but her own.

She pulled back from him with her smile still in place, and smoothed down his shirt at the shoulders. Murmuring under her breath about the state he was in, she didn't look up at him. "Don't you think about that, son. I'm sure you wouldn't enjoy the answer." Her eyes snapped up to meet with his then, calm and controlling. "Just rest assured that everything I have done was in the best interests of our family."

_You sent them after me; your own son, and you made them threaten me, threaten Peter-_

"Same here," he stated confidently.

His mother snorted, scorn visible on her face. "Your idea of 'what's best' appears to be taking your younger brother out of the country and- and-" She cut herself off and shook her head in a flustered movement: she didn't have to say anything, but Nathan realised with a sick feeling in the back of his throat that she _knew_. She knew exactly what he and Peter had got up to in all of those hotel rooms.

"Don't take it out on him," he said immediately. He could handle Angela's hatred and scorn. Peter couldn't.

She sighed and rolled her eyes as if he'd said the most ridiculous thing in the world. "There's _nothing_ for me to take out on him. Do you understand? Nothing happened on that trip. Peter had another breakdown, and left the country. You, as the devoted older brother, chased after him. It was very noble of you, and everyone's glad that you've returned safely. That's what happened."

Real life slipped away, and Nathan found himself nodding. "That's what happened," he repeated, as he glanced to where Peter was talking excitedly to Heidi.

"Good," Angela stated, with a nod. "Now come on, you've got a wife to grovel to."

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?" Peter snapped, standing in the centre of his apartment. There was anger radiating off of him in the same way that it used to from their father – thick and heavy and hateful. "I follow you around for a _month_ and I've gotta find out why from our mother?"

Nathan glanced away and silently vowed to make their mom pay for this: she'd been punishing him in different ways in the week since their return. This was just the latest in a long line of tortures.

"Pete, I had my reasons," he said quietly, moving forwards to Peter even though that possibly wasn't the best thing that he could do for his health. "Believe me."

"I do." He might've been agreeing, but Peter's words were still snapped out and he was still so angry. "And I wanted to know what those reasons are. I lost my job over this, Nate. My job, my girlfriend, everything. You should've told me. You _owed_ me that."

"I know…"

"No. No, you don't." Peter gestured furiously, arms spread out. "You think you did what's best for me. You always do. 'Big brother knows best'. Well, this time, Nate? This time you were wrong."

And that hurt; that hurt because Nathan wasn't supposed to be wrong, not ever – and when he was, Peter wasn't supposed to call him on it.

"I did what I had to do."

"You did what you _wanted_ to do. We could've stayed here. You could've just warned me. I can look after myself, y'know."

Nathan crossed the space between them, in a late attempt to bridge the gap that had appeared without him noticing. "You shouldn't have to."

Peter looked away from him, eyes dropping to the carpet. "Yeah I should, Nate. And you have to let me." He took a step away, heading through to the kitchen, and that was it: apparently the conversation was over, much easier than Nathan would've imagined. He almost felt relieved.

When he looked back on it later, after Suresh and their powers and Sylar, he'd realise that this was the exact moment that things started to go wrong between them.

_-fin-_


End file.
